


What's Lost And Cannot Be Found

by sidekickjoey



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Gen, In which the Chevalier is sad and Liselotte works her magic, Missing Scene, OT3, This is really just the Chevalier and Liselotte being best buds, We love platonic love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:49:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21992461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidekickjoey/pseuds/sidekickjoey
Summary: Missing scene in the fallout of the Chevalier and Monsieur's breakup in 3x01. The Chevalier runs to Liselotte for comfort after losing Philippe's favor, and she does her duty as his best friend and gives him strength to carry on.
Relationships: Chevalier de Lorraine/Philippe d'Orléans | Monsieur (Versailles 2015)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 58





	What's Lost And Cannot Be Found

**Author's Note:**

> The Chevalier and Liselotte's relationship in season 3, though not exactly historically accurate, is one of my favorite dynamics Versailles produced. I loved their bond and their unceasing friendship, especially all that was shown in the deleted scenes between them. I made my own 'deleted scene' here to showcase that relationship and how I think it would have played into one of the lowest moments for the Chevalier emotionally. Who better to run to for help and advice on Philippe than Philippe's own wife? Hope you enjoy xx

“He no longer loves me.”

Looking up from her book, Liselotte raises her brow. At her door, the Chevalier de Lorraine stands a shell of himself. His eyes do not have their normal sparkle, tinted instead with the sullen shine of fresh tears. His body is limp, barely held up against the frame of her door. Worst of all, his lips are turned down in a defeated frown. _That frown does not deserve its place_ , Liselotte thinks as she stands from her bed. Not when its normal occupant, his brilliant white smile, is so much more formidable. She crosses the room and holds out her hand to him. A small sob leaves him, broken and far-off in some unspoken nightmare, but he takes her outstretched palm and allows her to guide him to her bedside. Moving the book, she sits him gently down and places herself close by.

“Whatever are you talking about?”

“Philippe.” The name looks to break the very essence of the Chevalier in two. “H-He no longer loves me. I’ve lost him.”

“Well that cannot be true,” she says with a deep-set frown. “He loves you more than Louis loves Versailles. Than Maintenon loves herself. You are the apple of his eye, dear. He cares about you greatly.”

Another sob wracking his body, the Chevalier shakes his head.

“I do not understand. Last I saw you two, you kissed and he declared his love for you. He said he would return to love you after his time at war. What happened?”

“I fear it is that time at war took his love right away,” he murmurs. Liselotte takes his hand into hers and squeezes, encouraging him to go on. “You did not see him the last time he returned, darling, but he was not the man he was when he left. The man I knew before then was affectionate and warm – like sunshine on a dreary winter’s day! The man who returned was colder, like stone. He threw me around and treated me not unlike a common whore upon our first embrace.”

“That does not sound like our Philippe.”

The Chevalier weakly smiles. “It wasn’t. Just like the one we face today is not.”

“Well, I do not know how, but it appears you were able to get him back to his old self before,” she offers. “Perhaps you can get him back again?”

“Not this time.”

“Why?”

“Because this time, he refused me.” The Chevalier, feeling his stomach lurch, drops Liselotte’s hand to wrap his arms protectively around his waist. A slow stream of air leaves his lips as he tries desperately to calm down, his body starting to rock back and forth unconsciously. At his side, Liselotte rubs his back. She has never seen him like this, and the sight alone is enough to make her stomach queasy, too. “He still wanted me then, Liselotte. Desperately so, even. That desire led him to eventually see past his fears and irrationality and come back to me. But the man I met today…the look in his eyes…I-I don’t think…”

He trails off, coughed sobs replacing breaths. Her heart fully breaking now, Liselotte brings his shivering body against hers. She holds him through each sob and flickered painful memory, and they stay like that for a while. He needs it, the gentle hold of a mother, of a friend. She does not complain that his tears are wetting her gown or that his cologne is far-too-strong for her liking. No, she lets him be all the way until he can seemingly cry no more. At that point, she pets his head and presses a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Will you share a glass of wine with me, Philippe?”

“Please,” he whispers, voice hoarse from the crying, “call me anything else…call me Chevalier, if you must. I can’t…I can’t hear that name without…”

Liselotte nods, sentiment understood.

She leaves his side for but a moment to pour some of her favorite wine, lovingly delivered by her chambermaids, into two glasses. She adds a bit more to the Chevalier’s, knowing he probably needs it, and returns to his side to hand it to him. He takes it gratefully and downs it without a single moment of hesitation. Liselotte does not, _cannot_ , drink hers as fast, but she does not chide him. He needs it. Instead, she merely watches and comes up with a few words she would like to say to her husband when she sees him next. Cup emptied, the Chevalier sets it aside and wipes at his eyes.

“I’m terribly sorry, but I think I finished our shared wine before you could take a sip.”

“That’s alright,” Liselotte says softly. She places her glass down to take the Chevalier’s hand into hers. He submits to the free affection, too tired to protest. “Did I ever tell you about the first man my father tried to betroth me to, Chevalier?”

His eyes flutter up from their hands to meet her face. Liselotte feels pride in herself for not jumping upon seeing just how bloodshot and strained they look. “You were betrothed to another?”

“Briefly,” she notes, giving his hand a squeeze. “My father thought it right to try and betroth me to some lower prince from the backcountry, so to speak. _Renold._ He figured myself not fit to be a truly royal lady and had me shipped off to meet the man. It was _terribly_ boring. The first day I was at his home, which you _barely_ could call a palace, he hardly even looked at me. Talked right past me, like I were some ghost! I was mortified and so, so scared.”

“What happened then?”

“The next day, I confronted him," she continues. "I told him that I have taken far too many classes about how to properly greet a prince for him to not even meet my eye and treat me with such disrespect. He was _furious_. I swear to you, he threw me in a prison cell for a solid few hours that day.”

“He _imprisoned_ you?”

Liselotte nods. “I cried the entire time.”

“Not that that is not _incredibly_ fascinating and making me want to know what other juicy secrets you have not yet told me about yourself,” the Chevalier rambles, causing the briefest of giggles from the princess, “but why on Earth are you telling it to me now? What’s the point?”

“Just listen. Renold and I hated each other for weeks, and it felt like we were speaking completely different languages when we did. He imagined this demure, quiet little thing and as you know, I am far from that. I myself expected more than a statue of a man, so you can imagine how we clashed once I was released. But, over time, we came to not hate each other so much. We spent some time actually divulging what we felt and why we were the way we were and grew to a mutual understanding. Not all unlike we did,” she adds, elbowing the Chevalier. “He eventually sent me home saying that I deserved someone better, someone who at least let me flourish in my own right. When I left, we were basically friends.

"Where you and Philippe are at right now sounds to me a lot like that prison room.” The Chevalier blinks and looks down as more tears threaten. Fascinating how the sound of one’s name could do such a thing. “You two are speaking different languages now for whatever reason, and he is punishing you because he no longer sees where you are coming from…where _he_ is coming from.”

“But I don’t know why.”

“Perhaps he expected things not to differ so much between when he left and when he arrived,” she suggests. “I mean, when he went to war, he and I were not yet parents and you were a boy still addicted to powders, just barely in the favor of the King. He came back to myself as a mother and you as a sober, talented, well-to-do _man_ with his own position at court, _free_ from needing his help to survive. I doubt he knows where he fits in anymore.”

“Then why doesn’t he _ask_ me instead of throwing our love aside?”

“Because he’s _Philippe_. He never asks before acting.”

The Chevalier sighs. “So what am I to do then? How do I escape this _prison_ and come to a mutual understanding with him when he can barely stand to see me?”

“Give him time.”

“Oh, now _there_ is a winning idea.”

“No, I’m serious,” Liselotte urges, turning herself to better face the sarcastic man before her. “Give Philippe time to find himself. Whatever war does to him, it sounds like it takes him a while to figure out how to be Philippe, Duc d'Orléans again. Do not push him. Give him that time, and if he wants space, give him that space, too! Just let him come back to you. If I know my husband, he _will_ remember how much you two care for each other and return. It sounds like he always has.”

Frowning, the Chevalier looks wistfully over at his empty wine glass. “I wish I could share your optimism, darling.”

“I will sit here every day and share a glass of wine with you until you do.”

“What did I ever do to deserve such a friend?”

“You were there for me when my husband could not be.” Liselotte turns the Chevalier’s face back to hers, nestling his cheek into her palm with the gentlest of caresses. “You held my hand through childbirth and held me when the nights grew lonesome. And now, it is my turn to be there in his absence for you, however you may need me.” She pauses. “Well, within reason, of course.”

For the first time that night, the Chevalier truly smiles. “Of course. Thank you.”

Liselotte grins and taps his cheek. “Anytime.”


End file.
